The Mississippi Trainer
The structure of the Sett plantation is unlike any other.
In the fields, the members are bound by a fierce sense of unity centered around their foremen, and there are countless shackles in place to ensure no one can betray the trust.
This wasn't something James forced upon them.
It was a defensive wall the slaves within the manor built themselves to ensure that no traitor could ever emerge.
Because the moment one person betrayed the Master, everyone on the plantation could be dragged back to the hell they once knew.
That is why the atmosphere on the plantation is free enough that James doesn't even need to step in, yet no one dares to cross the line.
With discipline so firmly established, the overseer, who is supposed to handle the practical affairs of the plantation, has very little to do.
There is no need to crack a whip to force work, no need to hurl profanities to enforce rules, and above all, no need to worry about being fired and having to look for a new job.
As a result, the overseer of the Sett plantation respects and follows James Sett just as much as the Black workers do.
He is an employer who allows them to work in a paradise where the salary is double that of neighboring overseers—including bonuses—while the workload is nearly a third.
If anyone were to slander him, or if anyone were to try and dig up the secrets of this plantation, he would be the first to step up and shoot them dead.
Jonathan—also known by the nickname John on the plantation—vowed to bury his bones in this soil forever.
However, a troublesome situation of a different kind had recently arisen.
"Overseer, where has the Master gone?"
"Oh. Right. He received an invitation from the horse racing club, so Leo took him there. It’s a place where some big shots called 'Gentleman Planters' or something gather, apparently?"
"Oh! As expected of the Master. Well, it makes sense; there couldn't possibly be a greater planter in this country than our Master. Since the Master is away, Overseer, would you like to play a round of baseball with us?"
"I'd love to, but we have to go deliver some materials. Ben, Henry. Go call Sam and get the carriage ready."
"Yes, sir!"
That is exactly how the frequency of laughing and chatting happily with the Black workers began to increase.
At first, they were intimidated by Jonathan as well.
Jonathan, too, had never thought he would be on friendly terms with the people he had been whipping until just last year.
However, since it was illegal under current law for Black people to hold group gatherings without the accompaniment of an owner or overseer, Jonathan had participated in their baseball games or meetings several times.
"Thank you, Overseer."
"You always work so hard."
"Oh... right."
Every time, the slaves would thank Jonathan, and Jonathan, who had been awkward at first, soon found himself mingling and playing with them.
Baseball was fun, and the meals were joyous.
Once, when he took an injured slave to the hospital, the child who was the man's daughter brought him flowers, saying she was grateful.
That ticklish feeling that crept up one side of his chest at that moment.
Since then, Jonathan had become a man who could never go to another plantation.
James entrusted such menial tasks to Jonathan, and Jonathan was working hard for his employer.
The carriage Jonathan was riding in arrived at the harbor warehouse along the familiar road.
While Ben, Henry, and Sam were unloading the goods from the carriage as usual, Brad, the overseer of the neighboring plantation who had been smoking in the shade of the warehouse, approached and waved his hand.
"John! What brings you here?"
"The Master wanted to deliver the surplus materials."
"Wow, rumors are spreading everywhere that you've been working much harder lately, and it was true. Is the pay good?"
"Our Master is quite a remarkable person, isn't he? Naturally, the pay is good too."
"I'm envious, truly. You'll have to buy me a drink later."
Brad chuckled, patting Jonathan on the shoulder.
Jonathan laughed along, but his heart didn't feel as light as it used to.
Brad pointed at one of his own slaves with his chin and said,
"Ah, look at that guy over there. I told him to paint the fence yesterday, and would you believe it, he was painting his own head with it. The stupid nigger bastard. Do you know how much I laughed when I saw that?"
Brad's shoulders shook.
Jonathan tried to force the corners of his mouth up, but no laughter came out.
If it had been last year, he surely would have held his stomach and laughed along.
Hadn't he been happily mocking and laughing at the slaves on the plantation with his acquaintances just last year?
But now, the hunched back of that slave working silently under the sun felt strangely irritating.
If he were on our plantation, he wouldn't have to live like that... Just as he was about to fall into such uncharacteristic thoughts, Ben, Henry, and Sam, who had finished unloading the cargo, returned.
They bowed their heads lightly toward Jonathan as a sign that they had completed their mission.
Seeing that, Brad let out a bitter smile again.
"Heh, look at those things. They follow their master and play baseball, so they must think they've become gentlemen? But a monkey is still a monkey. Just because you put a bat in their hands doesn't make them human, does it? Don't you agree?"
"Uh..."
In an instant, the forced smile vanished from Jonathan's face.
Ben and Henry pretended not to hear the insulting remark and signaled to Jonathan that they should return.
Since such insults were a daily routine for them, it was just a matter of enduring and moving on.
But Jonathan did not move.
"...Take that back. What you just said."
"Huh? Take it back?"
Brad's eyes widened at the unexpected reaction.
He still seemed unable to grasp the situation, grinning as he patted Jonathan's shoulder.
"What's wrong, Jonathan? Can't you even take a joke? My, my, you've been hanging around with the niggers for too long, have you caught 'nigger sensitivity' or something? Hahaha!"
Even he himself couldn't understand why.
POW!
Jonathan's fist, filled with the will to correct, exploded onto Brad's face.
Surely, it was because a mere overseer had dared to insult the assets of the Master he respected.
'If someone who doesn't know their place insults our assets, make them pay the price.'
'Yes? What if I get reported for that?'
'Don't worry. You can just settle it with money.'
Right. This is for the Master, not for these Black folks.
"You son of a bitch, how dare you insult the Master!"
Jonathan's voice rang out, echoing through the warehouse area so that everyone around could hear.
The big planters of the horse racing club who invited me were giants who called themselves Gentleman Planters.
But there is one law in this world.
Those who shout that they are not interested in money are usually the ones most obsessed with it.
So, what does that make those who call themselves Gentleman Planters?
"Oh, oh! James Sett! It's been a while. I saw you once when you followed your father here when you were young; do you remember?"
"To think you've grown up so wonderfully; you must attend our club regularly from now on."
"Indeed, indeed. A fine young man like you must join us so that we don't become complacent and can grow even further together, don't you think?"
Naturally, they are a Cotton-Loving Group, a hundred million light-years away from being gentlemen.
I can see right through you, you bastards.
You just want to hang out with me and suck out the secrets of my plantation management, don't you?
But that didn't mean I had the option of not responding to their call.
Since this is a club that includes one of Mississippi's senators, and even an official cooperation document from the governor has been issued, I had no choice but to mingle with them.
So, for now, the best strategy is to play along, pretending to cater to these self-proclaimed gentlemen like a gentle lamb.
"I am honored to be a member of such an honorable club. I am still lacking, so I ask for your guidance so that I may become a gentleman like all of you."
"Hahaha, guidance, you say."
"Everyone knows of your abilities; you are quite humble as well."
After everyone added a word, Senator Alexander Parer, the de facto chairman of the club, approached me with a smile.
"As the governor said, you are truly a young man with a healthy and excellent mindset. So, I have a favor to ask of you; would you be willing to listen?"
"If there is anything I can do to help, I must naturally lend my strength."
"Ho ho, indeed. Actually, as you know, with the tension between the North and South continuing to rise, an official request has been issued to more strictly control the slaves in our households. However, in some plantations, no matter how strictly the overseers manage them, productivity just won't rise, which is a headache."
Senator Parer paused for a moment, as if gauging my reaction, then revealed his true intentions with a sly, snake-like smile.
"In particular, the Cedar Grove plantation, which I manage as a trustee of the trust property, is like that. Even though the overseer there has a quite sharp hand in dealing with slaves, the results are quite lackluster. So, I was wondering if I could get some advice from an expert like you; what do you think?"
Look at that. No matter how you wrap it in words, it's true that they want to see how I handle my slaves and steal the secrets, isn't it?
It was a transparent ploy, but it was a process I would have to go through sooner or later anyway.
I nodded readily.
"Of course, Senator. It would be an honor if I could be of any help. However, please understand that I can only offer limited advice, as I cannot disclose all of my trade secrets."
"Of course, I understand. It's not like we're trying to dig up your secrets. It's just a matter of joining forces for the interests and future of us planters in Mississippi."
With that, Senator Parer spun a lie that no one but a fool would believe, and headed with me to the Cedar Grove plantation in question.
In any case, the big planters in this region were mostly people who knew each other, and naturally, I was also well-informed about the Cedar Grove plantation.
Currently, the Cedar Grove plantation was in a state where the previous owner had died, and an heir with almost no knowledge of plantation management had inherited it.
So, the original owner had entrusted the asset management to Senator Parer, a prominent legal scholar.
In other words, this man was essentially dumping free consulting on me under the pretext of government policy because the profits of the plantation he was managing were lackluster.
It might seem petty for a senator to act this way, but since this is the average character of our Dixie friends, I suppose I should understand with a broad heart.
However, no matter how much I had expected it, it was hard to suppress the subtle feeling of discomfort that rose up when I saw the actual state of the plantation.
The foul stench that greeted us the moment we stepped off the carriage.
The slaves' huts were shabby, as if they would collapse at any moment, and there was no sign of life in the eyes of those working in the fields.
"Senator, you've arrived!"
Duncan Skinner, the plantation overseer who spotted us, rushed over and greeted us hurriedly.
Just by looking at his menacing expression and the whip stained with blood that he proudly wore at his waist, I could guess his tendencies.
"It's feeding time, so I was giving them their fodder. Since you've arrived, Senator, I told them to come and greet you..."
"No, that's fine. Today, I want to show this young man here the management state of our plantation, so act as naturally as possible, as if we weren't here."
Looking at the meal of the slaves crouching on one side of the field drinking thin soup, it was as miserable as I had expected—enough to believe it was fodder for livestock.
Just then, a young slave discovered me and Senator Parer, who were dressed in high-end suits, and flinched, dropping his soup bowl.
Seeing that sight, Skinner's face twisted with rage.
CRACK!
"You useless bastard! How dare you waste precious food?"
Along with the sharp sound of a whip, the groans of the child desperately trying to hold back his moans rang out.
He was instinctively clenching his teeth and enduring it because he knew he would be hit more if he screamed.
Of course, Senator Parer didn't even blink an eye at this sight.
Instead, he gave a bitter smile and nodded.
"Skinner is a bit rough, but sometimes you have to keep discipline like that. You know that well, don't you?"
"I see."
After that, Senator Parer continued to add various explanations while showing me the slaves who had finished their break and started working.
The analysis is complete.
To summarize the Cedar Grove plantation in one word, this place is the best example that clearly reveals the level of these gentlemen who call themselves gentlemen.
Gentlemen? If these guys are gentlemen, I'm at least a saint.
Labor bordering on abuse is the standard, the level of nutritional management is the worst, and they don't even hesitate to use corporal punishment as an example.
The fact that the overseer acts like that means that Senator Parer, the manager of this plantation, is essentially condoning it, so it's safe to say both of them are the same kind of people.
"So, what do you think? I think I'm managing it quite strictly, but compared to your plantation, the profit margin is ridiculously low, so I'm just ashamed. But as the best slave trainer in Mississippi, you must have a trick to improve the state of this plantation, right?"
I pretended to think for a moment, then smiled confidently and nodded.
"It's an easy task."
"Oh, oh! That's very reassuring. Then, since I will accept your opinion entirely, could you give me some simple advice?"
I felt like a sneer might leak out, but fortunately, I didn't show it.
I could apply a moderate level of improvement immediately, but isn't it the case that our Senator wants to drastically improve the profit margin?
Then, naturally, it is the expert's duty to go in the direction the customer wants.
"Let's start by pointing out the obvious elements first."
The method to dramatically improve the state of the Cedar Grove plantation was actually too simple.
When the situation comes where I have no choice but to beat the price down to a pittance, I can just acquire it.
Since the profit margin will be maximized and the complaints will be minimized, I trust that Senator Parer will also be satisfied.
Of course, I will sincerely strive to improve the profits of this plantation, but management can fluctuate wildly due to the intervention of unexpected external factors.
For example, if the machinations of radicals like John Brown were to raid the plantation, how much damage would be incurred?
I'm just giving an example of what might happen.
Really.